


Wherever You Go

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Executive Dysfunction, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "It’s hard," Bitty says, "because sometimes I don’t have the patience to love myself, through all this mess, and it makes me wonder why you’d want to.”“Because you’re worthy of it,” Jack says, in a way that’s just simple, like it’s a fact that can’t be disputed.  Like how the sun will rise, and the sun will set, and Jack will love Eric Bittle.





	Wherever You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes when you feel overwhelmed by life, some hurt/comfort Zimbits is all you need.

Sometimes the day is just…bad. Sometimes it’s a big thing, but most of the time it’s a culmination of the little stuff. A bad mark, a rude comment, a pie just not turning out right, the way his mother’s been ignoring his calls. And his head sometimes just goes to places he doesn’t want to think about, because that way lies madness, or however the saying goes.

And Bitty understands his executive dysfunction is a _thing_ and it’s always going to be fucking things up, and he’s not going to get cured, even if he does eventually figure out more helpful coping skills for it. But sometimes with all the bad things, he also feels like a failure because everything he turns in is either late, or last minute, and it’s never the top quality he knows he’s capable of. And he’s so tired of seeing the disappointment on his professor’s faces when they had back something he could have gotten an A on, but the C stands there telling him he passed, but it wasn’t as good as it should have been…

And it stings

And it makes him feel like curling up in a ball and crying. And it makes him feel like getting into his bed and never leaving, which will only make things worse for him, and yet it's nearly impossible to resist the crushing inability to just get up, and just do the fucking work he knows he's capable of doing if only he could get past this.

What breaks him that day is standing in the queue at Annie’s, waiting to get his hands on something rich and sweet and terrible for him. And there’s a guy from the Football team a few feet away Bitty’s seen at a party or two—one of the few who was invited back because he wasn’t a _total_ tool. And he kind of smirks at Bitty and gives him a once-over.

Bitty panics for a second because he thinks maybe this guy is going to like…ask him out. And technically he can’t just tell total strangers, _“Sorry I have a boyfriend. Famous NHL guy, actually so…while I’m flattered I can’t…”_

“You know, I’d probably ask you out if you were like a foot taller.” The guy says it in a friendly manner, like it’s the sort of joke that doesn’t cut to the core, like it’s the sort of joke that should make Bitty laugh instead of crawl further into himself and squeeze his hands into fists.

And Bitty’s clever. He’s quippy, he’s got sharp come-backs and he has reduced people to nothing with his vicious, southern passive-aggression. But right now everything comes up blank and he feels smaller than he is, and confused and _hurt_. So he just manages a half laugh, and does a piss-poor job at faking a phone call and bursts out of Annies. He walks, then he walks more, then he keeps walking until he’s at the train station and buying a ticket with his weekly coffee money and just…

Going.

He isn’t unfamiliar with Providence anymore, though he’s rarely here on a Wednesday of all days. Not with the term in full swing, and not with Jack gone on a roadie and not back until the following afternoon. And he knows the key in his pocket means he’s welcome anytime because Jack had said it.

“Anytime you need space or just want to come here, Bits, use it. My place is your place.”

And it wasn’t like Bitty didn’t believe him, but it was probably the way he was raised—his parents’ version of manners being all-but beaten into him that won’t let him treat another man’s home like his own. Even if it is Jack’s.

But today was just too much, and though Jack can’t be there to take care of him, maybe curling up in one of his t-shirts, under his duvet, surrounded by the smell of him would make it easier. Bitty can feel something creeping up on him, like a black, thick-as-quicksand bout of anxiety and depression threatening to swallow him whole, threatening to send him under the covers and wrap him up like a cocoon and make him fight to get up again.

Bitty hasn’t had bad days like this in so long. But he feels like he’s trudging through shallow waters of the shore as he makes his way up the street to Jack’s condo.

It’s empty. The air’s stale. It’s too quiet and too cold because Jack keeps it that way like the damn Canadian he is. Bitty doesn’t have bags. He hadn’t prepared, though it hardly matters. He has half a wardrobe and has for the past six months. Clothes don’t really matter, anyway.

He remembers at the last second to lock back up before shedding his shoes right in the middle of the floor, and then makes it to Jack’s bed. He curls up on Jack’s pillow and closes his eyes and he’s not entirely sure how long he stays there.

*** 

It’s in the middle of the night when Bitty wakes up. Jack’s front door had slammed shut, and Bitty panics because he doesn’t know who actually has a key. No one that would be surprised to see Bitty there. Probably. But what if it’s Jack’s parents, and what if they suddenly think Bitty’s taking advantage or doing something he’s not supposed to be doing because it _is_ Jack’s space, not his own.

He wants to scramble from the covers, but it’s too late and Jack’s bedroom door opens. Bitty’s heart is in his throat, choking him as he can’t actually believe he’s staring at his boyfriend. Jack’s face is drawn, worried, the wrinkle between his eyebrows prominent the way it is when there’s something he can’t quite figure out.

Bitty tries to say something, but his limbs are heavy and the words fall short of making it past his lips. Jack is still quiet, he’s still staring at Bitty’s form which is probably barely visible in the dark like this. But Bitty can see him in the faint light coming off a street lamp, and he watches as Jack methodically sheds his jacket, his tie, his shoes, trousers, shirt. Eventually he’s in his under-shirt and boxers, and he pushes the covers aside and climbs in, crowding Bitty back against his own pillow, but not letting him get far from his warm, strong arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jack eventually asks, and his voice is low, a little hoarse, but a soothing balm to Bitty’s frayed nerves.

“How did you know?” Bitty asks. His own voice is strained, like he’s been screaming for hours which he feels like it—and maybe he had done, in his sleep.

“Texts. Group text freaked out when you didn’t come home from Annie’s. I tried to call, but your phone is dead.” There’s a slight tremble of worry in Jack’s voice, but he’s calm enough which means at the moment Bitty’s disappearing act hadn’t done anything catastrophic to Jack’s anxiety. It was probably a near miss, and Bitty will apologise for it eventually.

For now, he just closes his eyes and shuffles forward until he can press his ear against the beating of Jack’s heart. It’s soothing in a way nothing else is. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for flying back so soon?”

“All I missed was press and chirping on the plane,” Jack says, and he rubs his hand up and down Bitty’s spine. He doesn’t ask Bitty to talk about it again.

“I…” Bitty stops and breathes. He lets Jack lift his chin with two fingers, and when they kiss it’s a soft thing, borne of comfort and some need which has nothing to do with libido or desperation which is usually what fuels these things when they haven’t seen each other in weeks. But Jack understands priority, and he understands Bitty, and seems to know what to give, and exactly how much. Which is why Bitty loves him so damn much. “I had a bad day.”

“I can tell. What do you need?”

“Just this,” Bitty says. “Can you sleep?”

“I can sleep,” Jack assures him. He holds Bitty tight, and then they do.

*** 

Bitty wakes first, just before Jack’s alarm. They have an evening game which means he won’t have to be up too early, and Bitty knows that on mornings like this, Jack will skip his run and make up for it at the gym later. Jack isn’t far behind Bitty, seconds before the phone starts to chime, and it’s silenced faster than usual.

Jack turns to Bitty, his fingers sleep-heavy as they brush through his fringe, then down the shorn sides. One of Jack’s favourite stims is brushing along Bitty’s short hairs, and Bitty loves it more than he’s loved little else in his life. “Did you sleep alright?”

Bitty hums, closing his eyes for a second, but not long because it feels like a crime to waste any time not looking at Jack when he’s right here. “I feel like I could sleep another week, but I know that won’t do me any good. I’m already going to miss class today.”

Jack doesn’t frown or admonish him, because Jack gets that while Bitty sometimes needs nudges, sometimes he also just needs permission that he can fuck-off and the world isn’t going to come to an end. “If you want, I can give you a ride home tonight. It’ll be late—after the game. But it’s better than the train, eh?”

Bitty lets himself smile, and he finds it surprisingly easy—though not that surprising because everything with Jack seems to be natural. Sometimes it’s been hard, and painful, but it’s never been a fight to have this, to feel it and to love it. 

Bitty reaches a hand up, brushing the backs of his knuckles along Jack’s cheekbone, up near the crinkle in his eye, and he sighs. “When I was real little, I wanted to have blue eyes.”

Jack blinks. “Why?” He sounds genuinely confused, and Bitty finds it so endearing it almost hurts.

“All the good love songs were written about blue eyes. Blue like the sky, like the sea, and all the real good looking celebrities had them. And the ones who didn’t wore contacts to change it. I wanted to be…special like that.”

“Oh Bits,” Jack breathes, then leans in and kisses him along his freckles, along his mouth, a kiss to each closed eyelid. “Yours are perfect. You know that, right?”

“I might be convinced,” Bitty says with a small smile. Then he breathes and tells Jack about his day. His less-than stellar mark, his late assignment, the way his blueberry pie’s crust burnt at the edge, but still managed a too-soft crust at the bottom. He tells him about the last bit, the guy at the café which makes Jack glower at the ceiling and curl his hand into a fist.

“He’s an idiot.”

Bitty laughs. “Yeah, he is. And it’s not like it matters. I got you and I ain’t interested in some dickhead from the football team. I was already preparing my rejection, but I guess I just…got ahead of myself. It’s just…” He stops, and Jack’s entire body goes lax and he turns, a hand on Bitty’s cheek to encourage him to keep going if he wants to. But only if he wants to. “It makes me wonder why you want me. I mean…I don’t doubt you, Jack. I wouldn’t. I love you and I believe you when you say you want me. But some days I just don’t understand why. I’m such a disaster.”

“You’re not,” Jack starts.

“I am,” Bitty quickly interrupts. “I might not be a world-ending kind of disaster, but I still am one. And I’ve made my peace with that, but it’s hard some days. It’s hard, because sometimes I don’t have the patience to love myself, through all this mess, and it makes me wonder why you’d want to.”

“Because you’re worthy of it,” Jack says, in a way that’s just simple, like it’s a fact that can’t be disputed. Like how the sun will rise, and the sun will set, and Jack will love Eric Bittle. “Being a disaster doesn’t mean what we have is complicated or hard, Eric. It just…is. I’ve loved you like this our entire relationship, and I can’t really tell you why, because there aren’t really words for the way I feel. And maybe I can’t make you feel better about yourself, but I can promise to love you twice as hard for days you can’t love yourself.”

“Oh, you,” Bitty says, because that’s about all he can manage with his throat thick like this, and eyes burning hot. He doesn’t cry. He’s not typically a crier, but right now is a close thing, and he just lets Jack gather him close and drop kisses to the top of his head until the weight on his chest eases, and he feels like he can take a full breath, and maybe even get out of bed.

“Let’s go over our schedule again,” Jack says after Bitty’s breathing has evened out and quieted. “I think you and I could both use a little extra time together. I’ll rearrange what I can, and even if it’s just you studying here…I think we need it.”

Bitty looked at him, his brown eyes bright and wondering, but content and happy even if his anxiety is still humming under his skin. “I think that sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

As it always does, the little epithet makes Jack’s cheeks pink, and the corners of his lips quirk up, and he brushes his thumbs along Bitty’s cheeks before taking them fully against his palm, and dragging him in for a kiss.


End file.
